This weeks words: guardian, olive, straddle
The owner of the soft voice wore an olive cloak. Green, on this rocky planet. The colour associated with the chloropods, out in the emptiness of space. A risk, to wear this, but reassurance also.
“You are Archwilydd Mark?”
“Not officially,” Mark replied, “Although until a replacement is officially announced, I’m straddling both the inquisition and the resistance.”
“I am Olewydden. I’ve found lodgings for you, and a role, so you can pass in society. Come.”
Mark’s nano-irises scanned Olewydden’s face, for tics that showed he might be untruthful, untrustworthy.
“No. I am only here to meet the Guardian.”
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